“This isn’t someone turning you into a frog as you walk down the corridor, minding your own business,” Emily said. “This is something that threatens your academic standing.”
She smiled, ruefully. Five years ago, she would have been horrified at the thought of being turned into a frog; six years ago, she’d known it was impossible. Now ... tattling wasn’t encouraged at Whitehall—students were meant to sort out their own problems—but pranksters and bullies were not meant to impede their victim’s studies. Anyone who tried would be in deep trouble, when they were caught. Frieda had every right to complain about Celadon if he—deliberately or otherwise—screwed up her marks.
“He just makes me angry.” Frieda glared down at the ground. “I bet Caleb didn’t make you angry.”
“Not that often,” Emily said. “We did have arguments over how to proceed, but we didn’t snap and snarl at each other.”
She cocked her head. “If the two of you really can’t work together, you need to find other partners. Now.”
“No one else will want me.” Another flicker of anger crossed Frieda’s face. “Or him. They all have their own partners.”
Emily winced. Frieda might be right. The only reason she’d been partnered with Caleb—after missing half of Third Year—was that he’d been forced to retake a year. If he hadn’t, she didn’t know what would have happened. She might have had to retake a year herself, just so she had a partner, or try to complete the project on her own. But that would probably have been an automatic fail.
“You’re not being judged on your spellwork alone,” she said. It was true, particularly for students who were exploring more conventional avenues of magic. “You have to learn to work with him. And he has to learn to work with you. If you can’t get him to see sense, you need to get your supervisor involved.”
She glanced up, sharply, as she heard thunder crashing over the mountains. “We’d better get down quickly,” she said. “It won’t be long before it starts raining.”
“I’ve seen worse,” Frieda said. “In the Cairngorms, we wouldn’t bring the sheep in for this.”
Darkness fell rapidly as the storm moved towards them. Emily cast a night-vision spell and looked around. In the faint light, the trees and bushes were starting to take on a vaguely sinister aspect.
Emily rose. “We’re not in the Cairngorms.” She’d only been to the Cairngorms once, but she hadn’t liked it. Frieda’s life had been hellish before she’d been discovered by a roving magician and taken away. “And the rain might turn to snow very quickly.”
She held out a hand. “Shall we go?”
Chapter Eleven
EMILY HADN’T BEEN SURE WHAT TO expect when she first walked into Master Tor’s new classroom. A traditional room, with rows of desks and chairs, or something a little more informal? His last classroom had been thoroughly traditional. But this one was startlingly informal. A handful of comfortable chairs arranged in a circle, a number of groaning bookcases, a pot of Kava on the sideboard, a fire burning merrily in the grate ... it could easily have passed for a living room, a place where a family might relax after a long day. She took one of the seats as Cabiria and the Gorgon followed her into the room, reminding herself to be sharp. Master Tor didn’t like her much.
Cabiria nudged her. “Half the class seems to have vanished,” she said. “Where have they gone?”
“There’s only nine chairs,” the Gorgon pointed out. Her snakes shifted uncomfortably as she took a seat close to the fire. “The others probably decided not to take this class.”
Emily frowned. “I thought it was compulsory.”
“It is,” a familiar voice said. Emily looked up as Gordian strode into the circle and took one of the remaining seats. “But we cannot accommodate all twenty-five of you at once.”
The Gorgon cleared her throat. “Sir, I was under the impression that Master Tor would be the teacher in this class ...”
“It was decided that I would take the class instead,” Gordian said, coolly. Emily caught a flicker of displeasure in his eyes. It was hard to escape the sense that Gordian didn’t like the Gorgon any more than he liked Emily. His predecessor had been seen as astonishingly liberal for allowing a gorgon to study at his school. “Master Tor is otherwise occupied.”
He leaned back into his seat, crossing one leg over the other. “The others should be here in two minutes. For future reference, the door will be locked two minutes after class begins. Anyone who fails to arrive by then will be denied entry and marked absent for the period. There will be no further warning.”
And no way to alert the others to hurry, Emily thought. They won’t have heard the warning.
Cirroc walked through the door, followed by Jacqui and Cerise. There was no sign of Caleb, to her private relief.
She sighed, inwardly, as the last of the students arrived. Gordian taking the class boded ill, she was sure, even though it wasn’t a practical subject. Master Tor could hardly have ordered his direct superior to take the class, could he? But then, she’d checked. Gordian had very little experience of actually teaching. It was possible that he’d decided to try to fill in the gaps as much as possible. She supposed he deserved respect for that, if it was true. She’d met too many people who were staggeringly ignorant of their own ignorance.
But you couldn’t get away with it indefinitely at Whitehall, she reminded herself. Bluffing doesn’t work when you’re expected to show competence at all times.
Gordian waved a hand at the door. It shut with an ominous bang.
“Thank you for coming,” he said. “This class is Ethics in Magic and Politics. Those of you who noted that there was no reading list—and had the sense to ask Master Tor—already know this is not a class in the traditional sense. I will be operating a discussion group, rather than lecturing you for the next two hours.”
His lips curved into a cold smile. “I’m sure you will find that something of a relief.”
Emily wasn’t so sure. She enjoyed discussions and debates, one on one, but she’d never been comfortable speaking in front of a group. It was too easy to make a mistake, then have everyone call her on it. She’d addressed the firsties, but there hadn’t been any audience participation. They’d been too awed or nervous to question her.
And Gordian will probably enjoy pointing out my mistakes, she thought, sourly. So will some of the girls.
“Let’s start with an obvious question,” Gordian said. “What are ethics?”
“A code of conduct,” Cirroc said.
Gordian looked faintly displeased. Emily wondered, sardonically, if he’d planned to make her answer the question. Or maybe he’d expected them to put up their hands and wait to be called on before they opened their mouths. Clearly, he’d never taken a discussion group before. She couldn’t help wondering if he’d taken the class himself, back when he’d been at Whitehall. Perhaps it was a relatively new innovation.
“Close,” Gordian said. “Ethics are a framework of thought that define right and wrong.”
He paused. “How many of you think it is wrong to steal?”